


read the fine print later

by MistressKat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BDSM, Bloodplay, Dark, Dubious Consent, Graphic Sex, Incest, M/M, Plot What Plot, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-31
Updated: 2010-03-31
Packaged: 2017-10-08 13:32:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/76152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressKat/pseuds/MistressKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It's never enough.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	read the fine print later

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pushkin666](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pushkin666/gifts).



> For [pushkin666](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pushkin666) who wanted something dark and filthy and not nice. This is all those things. Consider yourself warned. Story- and subtitles from _Book Of The Month_ by Lovage.

** _you are the bitter _ **

The carpet is coarse and grimy with dirt, digging into his knees painfully. Every muscle in his body aches from maintaining the same position for too long, fine tremors running up and down his arms and legs like warning signs before the collapse. Dean ignores them all, forcing himself to stillness, eyes trained on the doubled-up belt hanging from Sam’s hand.

It’s for him, only for him, and Dean curves closer, rubbing his face against the warm leather. He’s drooling, mouth helplessly open, when Sam’s fingers press in and down on his tongue, making him gag. Dean opens wider, asking for more.

Sam gives it.

** _i am the sweet_ **

Dean moans around his cock, straining visibly, shoulders drawn tight. Sam does nothing to help, just watches Dean struggle for balance, arms flexing against the ropes, wrists tied snugly against the small of his back. There are tears in his eyes.

Sam snaps his hips forward, fast and brutal, thinks he could make Dean come just from this; the ruthless slip-slide of his cock in and out of Dean’s mouth. 

There are already marks all over Dean’s back, his skin mottled ugly purple with bruises, but it’s not enough. It’s never enough. Sam pulls out, fisting Dean’s hair for a brief a moment before delivering a backhanded blow across his face.

Dean lands heavily on his side, blood seeping from his split lip. Sam hisses air through his teeth, slick tendrils of power coiling inside him, slow and dangerous. He let’s the belt unfurl, trailing the end over Dean’s prone form. “_Crawl_,” he says. The word tastes like sugar melting on his tongue.  


** _you are the griddle _ **

Dean crawls, clumsily, belly down and shameless, his cock scraping along the harsh rug. Sam is standing above him, booted foot nudging Dean’s legs open. “_Slut_,” he whispers thickly. “Let me see.”

His shoulders are on fire but Dean braces himself on them anyway, head twisted at an awkward angle, ass lifting up, thighs spread. He can feel Sam kneel behind him, hauling him up by his hips and then there’s a breath against his skin and _hotwetfuckfuck_ slide of Sam’s tongue, filthy and thorough. Sam licks into him in long sweeps, from his balls to the base of his spine and back again. Dean groans and bucks, cock smearing precome against his stomach. Sam’s grip on his hips tightens to two perfect points of throbbing pain, his lips sealing over Dean’s hole, tongue burrowing in again and again.

It lasts until Dean is sure he’s going to come, hips stuttering helplessly against nothing, but at the last second Sam pulls away. His hands are rough and careless, yanking Dean up and curling under his collar, cutting off air momentarily.

The belt snaps against his hip and Dean flinches, more from the surprise than anything else. “Over the bed,” Sam says. Dean stumbles to obey, bending at the waist, face pressed against the dusty comforter, legs spread wide to accommodate the angle. “Let me hear. Let me hear how much you want this.” 

There’s an unmistakable sound of leather slicing through the air. Dean is begging long before it touches his flesh.

 

 

** _i am the meat_ **

Sam uses the belt because if he doesn’t he’s going to tear Dean apart with his bare hands, rip into him with teeth and nails and the relentless force of _mineminemine_. He doesn’t stop when the lashes on his brother’s skin turn from white to pink to angry red. He doesn’t stop when Dean’s pleads morph into hoarse screams before finally fading into quiet sobs. He doesn’t stop at the first sign of blood, or the second, not for the ache in his arm or the one in his chest.

Sam lets the belt slip from his fingers, dropping to the floor with a muted thump, but he _doesn’t_ _stop_. Dean is still and lax against the wrecked sheets and when Sam pushes inside he gasps Sam’s name like a half-forgotten prayer, low and strangled. 

They fuck like brothers, fierce and inexcusable and _knowing_. Sam pulls Dean closer, his bound hands twitching restlessly against Sam’s stomach. The air smells dirty and used, like rust and old coins, but underneath it, between the worn leather collar and the sweat damp skin Sam finds what he’s looking for. He bites down hard, teeth clamping down at the back of Dean’s neck, making him keen and shake and come all over the bed.

The tang of copper in his mouth pushes Sam over, shared blood in and out, pulsing in his veins and on his tongue. It’s not tender or beautiful or even _good_. It is, however, _necessary_; this raw, bitter thing that burns like acid in both their hearts and keeps them together in a world that is nothing but ashes.


End file.
